Goodnight
by Chappy-the-Bunny
Summary: His life made him feel like he was human; his death reminded him that he was not.


**Goodnight**

"Aoba-san, do you remember the first time we saw the ocean together?"

Clear remembered it well. He remembered how it had been a steamy summer evening in mid-July, how the sun's setting rays were reflecting remarkably off of the water's surface, and how the soft grains of sand had felt foreign beneath his feet. He remembered Aoba telling him about the ocean, and how it held a special place in his heart because of the memories he'd made with his family there. But most of all, Clear remembered seeing the squishy puddles of tiny jellyfish that had been washed up on the sea's shore. Such a sight caused him to become inconsolable. He cried for hours.

"Aoba-san, do you remember when I first discovered that you were ticklish?"

Clear remembered it well. He remembered how it had been a brisk winter night in late-January, how the snowflakes had decided that it was time to dance, and how warm Aoba's body had felt against his as they cuddled beneath the bedsheets, the both of them still sweaty from previous activities. He remembered Aoba telling him not to touch his feet, or else he would kick him. But most of all, Clear remembered how beautiful Aoba's laugh had sounded when he was completely and utterly at the mercy of his ferocious fingers.

"Aoba-san, do you remember when we made a bet on the leaves in the stream?"

Clear remembered it well. He remembered how it had been a chilly autumn afternoon in early-October, how the forest that surrounded them was ablaze with a lack of chlorophyll, and how the brittle grass had made surprisingly unique sounds as it crunched beneath their feet. He remembered Aoba pointing out two little leaves that had fallen into the stream that ran through the forest, how it almost looked like they were racing each other. But most of all, Clear remembered the perfectly pure smile that Aoba had shown to him when his leaf ended up being victorious.

And so the pattern continued on. Clear would ask Aoba if he remembered a certain event from their past together, while Aoba would smile weakly and nod in return. With that being said, Clear asked Aoba many things. He asked him if he remembered the first time they had met, he asked him if he remembered the first time he had seen his face, and he asked him if he remembered the first time they had "touched" each other. But most importantly, Clear asked Aoba if he remembered the first time he had been allowed to sing for him.

"I do..." Aoba whispered, for it was all his sickly vocal chords would permit him to do. "Such a beautiful voice..."

Clear, too, remembered it well. He remembered how it had been a silent spring night in the heart of April, how the stars in the sky had been threatening to rain down upon them, and how the gentlest breeze had felt when it played with the fine strands of his hairs. He remembered Aoba, lying comfortably in his bed, quietly listening to his tender tune, how his eyelids began to flutter and his lips began to twitch. But most of all, Clear remembered feeling incredibly frightened after Aoba had fallen asleep, because what if he never opened his eyes ever again?

"Aoba-san, I've talked too much," Clear said apologetically. "You must be very tired."

And that he was. Aoba was tired, very tired. He'd grown old beside Clear, who still bore the body of bountiful youth, hosting his "charm points" in all of the right places. For the past three weeks, he had listened to Clear rattle off questions about their past, with the slight chance that there would come an event that Aoba's memories had seemed to repress, to which Clear would then explain the event to him in deep and engaging detail. But that never occurred. It didn't have to, because even in his old age, Aoba remembered everything for himself.

There was, however, one last memory - or rather, a dream that had yet to become a memory - that Aoba wanted Clear to grant him. It was a simple memory, one that would only serve as a replica of many of his other memories. "Clear..." he began to say, nearly losing his voice in the process, "there is something...I want you to do for me..."

"Yes? What is it, Aoba-san?"

Inhaling what could have very well been his last breath, Aoba carefully whispered, "Sing me to sleep."

And so Clear did, and he remembered it well. He remembered how it had been a somber summer evening in mid-July, how the sun's setting rays were reflecting solemnly off of the window pane, and how the soft warmth of Aoba's cheek began to fade from his touch. He remembered the time when he and Aoba had seen the ocean together, and how he cried because of the beached jellyfish. He remembered when he had first discovered that Aoba was ticklish, and how he'd heard the most beautiful sound to ever grace his ears. He remembered the bet they had made on the leaves from the stream, and how Aoba and shown him such a special smile to brag about his victory.

He remembered everything. He remembered all of it. Every deep and engaging detail.

But most of all, as he sang him the song that his grandfather had taught him, Clear remembered that it was because of Aoba that he had been able to fantastically live as a human. But that was a memory that he would eventually forget.

"Goodnight, Aoba-san."

* * *

><p><em>Hi there! Chappy here! :D<em>

_And wow, this is the very first time I've written anything for the DRAMAtical Murder fandom! I deeply apologize for the onslaught of angst. orz_

_This idea stemmed from the very well-known song by Lana del Rey: **Young and Beautiful**. Listening to the song made me think of Aoba worrying that Clear would no longer love him in his old age, but soon realizing that yes, yes, he would very much still love him. As you can tell, this drabble took a bit of a different turn from that idea, but that song had definitely been the basis for this super short story! So, that's enough rambling! I'll leave you with that!_

_Thank you for taking the time to read, and I hope that you enjoyed! (:_

_- Chappy_


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